Awakening
by sisirongana
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a ton of pointy swords and shiny armor. But Shepard's not a knight and Liara's no damsel. She's certainly in a lot of distress, though. Mass Effect/Bioware AU, FShepard/Liara.


_Note: Originally written for my dearest friend, AWildeWoolf. It helps a little if you're familiar with my other work, but it's not necessary. Also, it's an AU and that takes place in the universe of another Bioware fandom, so I suppose it's a crossover? Unbetaed. Thank you so much for reading (and hopefully reviewing!)_

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><p>Despite the dark smudges of dirt that mar the sharp lines of her face, the blood that stains her tattered clothing and battered armor, the disturbing pallor of her face…Liara cannot help but notice that the wounded woman on her bed is utterly beautiful.<p>

For a moment, Liara finds herself captivated by the strong curve of her jaw and the bump on the bridge of her otherwise perfect nose. There is a scar that cuts across the woman's left eye and down her cheek, the raised skin pale pink and jagged. It is clear she has seen her share of battle, but there is something about her that is unlike Liara's ever seen.

The woman suddenly shifts and groans aloud, her face wrinkling in a grimace and prompting Liara to get back to the task at hand. She takes the warm, wet cloth and gently swipes it across the woman's unhealthily pale face, removing as much dirt as she can. She cannot heal her any further – Liara has done as much as she can with her magic. The woman's constitution is all that can help her now.

Liara hums softly, hushing the woman as she grunts and shifts uncomfortably on the bed. Murmuring nonsensical words of comfort, the asari mutters a spell to help the woman sleep through the pain and moves to get her a fresh change of clothes.

Foggily, the woman reaches up and grabs Liara's hand before she leaves and before the spell fully kicks in. "Please…" she says, the timbre of her voice low and husky with disuse. "Wh…where am I?" she manages to slur sleepily.

Liara squeezes her fingers and gives her the most reassuring smile she can.

"You are safe," she says simply. It must be enough, because the woman just nods once and falls deeply into sleep.

.

.

.

Liara always wakes with the dawn: it was a habit ingrained in her from childhood, and now it is a habit turned necessity. She tries not to think about the reasons exactly _why_ it has become necessity, and instead, quietly heads downstairs to make breakfast for her sleeping charge.

The sun has still not fully risen when she brings the food to the woman's room, expecting to find her resting.

She very clearly is not, and for the split second that she does not notice Liara lingering in the doorway, she struggles and huffs in frustration, trying to sit up on her own. By the time sweat breaks out on her brow, Liara decides to announce her presence. It is exhausting enough just watching her.

"You should take it easy," is all Liara says before bringing the tray of food over to her and gently pushing her back onto the pillows, careful not to aggravate her injuries.

"I…" the woman grunts past gritted teeth, "…am fine."

"Oh?" Liara asks, amused. She had assumed from the woman's lean, defined musculature and abundance of scars that she was a warrior. The stubbornness and inability to sit still somewhat confirmed her suspicion. "Then it shouldn't hurt when I do this," she says, poking the woman gently near the wound on her shoulder.

Sharply, the woman gasps before biting down on her lip. "It…feels great, actually," she lies, looking like it feels quite the opposite.

A vein pops out on her forehead as she breathes deeply through her nostrils, and Liara's had enough. "Lie down," Liara says in a stern voice, and meekly, the woman obeys after a moment's hesitation. "You had several broken bones, and you lost a lot of blood. I have done as much as I can for you, but you still must rest. Your body must recuperate on its own for now, and it can't do that if you insist on being stubborn."

The woman sighs heavily, looking miserable. "I—" she looks like she is going to protest for a moment, then thinks better of it. "Thank you," she whispers. "You have been so kind…and to a stranger no less." Dusky blue eyes peer up at Liara from the bed, and suddenly Liara's cheeks feel like they're aflame. "I owe you my life."

"It…there is no need to thank me," she says, a little embarrassed.

"Does my lady have a name?" the woman asks.

"Liara," she blurts. "My name is Liara."

"Liara," the stranger repeats, as if tasting it on her tongue; she must like it because she gives a broad smile. "It is a very beautiful name. It suits you."

Liara feels a little light-headed, as though she is the one that lost copious amounts of blood. "What is yours?"

The woman's large smile falters and turns wry. "Well, now that, I was hoping you could tell me."

.

.

.

The greatsword is heavy and unwieldy in Liara's inexperienced hands, but when she practically drags it over to the bedside, the woman picks it up one-handed and with ease.

"This is mine?" the woman asks, inquisitive. She looks at the bloodstained clothes and armor Liara's placed on the bed. "And this as well?"

Liara nods. "These were all that you had on you when I found you near my cottage, bleeding and near death. It's clear there was a fight of some sort, but you were alone."

"The sword is Fereldan made," the woman notes, examining it with a critical and knowledgeable eye. "As is my armor."

"And your accent," Liara adds helpfully. "At the very least, we know you hail from these lands."

"But you don't," she observes. "Your accent…it's unique," she adds cautiously.

Uncomfortably, Liara shifts her gaze to the floor for a moment. "I…" she hedges. "I…am from elsewhere."

"Hmm." She must sense the asari's discomfort, because she abandons the thread of conversation in lieu of searching through her undershirt's pockets. "Ah," she says, triumph in her voice. "A note! Maybe this will give me a clue."

Liara hums her approval. "What does it say?"

Unfolding the small parchment, the woman's eyebrows furrow as she slowly reads the note aloud. "Darby – when the hawk flies and the siren calls in a fortnight's time, the shepherd always returns home to her wild flock, though providence should bar the way." She looks up at Liara, perplexed. "What in the Maker's name could that mean? How cryptic."

"Perhaps a riddle?" Liara shrugs helplessly. "It's either a message to you or a message from you. The sword and armor you carry would not be that of a simple courier, so you couldn't have just been delivering it."

"Hand me that quill and parchment there, will you?" the woman asks. "Thank you," she adds when Liara diligently hands her the items. Taking the quill into her right hand and dipping into the nearby inkwell, she begins to scratch out the letters of the alphabet.

"Well?"

"The writing doesn't match," the woman says curiously. "But that name…" she trails off, brow furrowing.

"Darby," Liara supplies. "Could we make the assumption that that's you?"

The woman chews on her lip. "It does seem quite familiar…"

"Well, we need to call you something," the asari concludes with a smile. "And Darby is a fine Fereldan name. Strong." Smiling, she echoes the other woman's words from a few hours ago. "It suits you."

The woman – Darby, now, Liara supposes – smiles, showing a flash of white teeth under bloodied lips. "I suppose it does."

.

.

.

The following two mornings, Liara wakes before the sun. She must make sure to be there to give Darby a reproachful look should she attempt to get up on her own, something the woman seems intent on doing.

Her bones have been mended, but healing magic only goes so far – Darby may have forgotten what trauma she went through, may have accepted Liara's white lie that she'd been comatose for weeks instead of days, but her body cannot. For the next few days, the most she can do is stand slowly and shuffle a few steps before scowling and flopping down on the bed, huffing in frustration and fatigue.

"You should let me help you," Liara insists to no avail: it is the fourth time in three days she's said as such. "Overstraining will not help the healing process."

"I hate being like this…being useless." Darby impatiently swipes at the sweat on her brow. Liara is glad she doesn't have a mirror – certainly she would balk at the pallor of her face. "You shouldn't have to fuss over me."

"I don't," Liara says simply, "but I want to." The silence feels heavy while Darby gives her a curious, searching look, and Liara pointedly ignores the heat that grows on her neck. "You… seem like the type of person that needs to be told to slow down," Liara explains.

There is a pause that is not entirely uncomfortable, but inexplicably tense nonetheless. For a moment, Liara stills her breath. "And are you the woman to tell me such?" asks Darby with an amused quirk of her lips.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Liara says, feeling uncharacteristically emboldened.

"No." Darby's eyes sparkle in the sunlight, and her sour mood disappears before Liara's eyes. "Not at all."

.

.

.

By the fourth day, Darby has taken to already being in the chair opposite the bed by the time Liara brings her breakfast. She clearly revels in her accomplishment, and she looks so proud of herself that Liara pretends not to notice how flushed her cheeks are with the exertion, doesn't tsk too loudly when she notices how Darby's stitches have opened and mends them silently.

The next time Liara brings her breakfast, Darby is poring over the wrinkled note as though staring hard enough will give her answers, so much so that she doesn't notice Liara at the door: it is the perfect opportunity for Liara to observe the warrior without any embarrassing consequences.

Liara still finds her fascinating even after spending practically every waking moment with her for a week. Darby may not remember her past, but there is an underlying strength, a certain powerful quality to her that ensures a remarkable future. She is smart, and she is funny, and it has been far too long since Liara has laughed the way Darby makes her laugh. Sometimes, very guiltily, Liara feels a little happy that Darby was injured, because they wouldn't have met otherwise. Liara is almost a little thankful for her amnesia as well – it gives the warrior a clean slate, and inadvertently gives Liara one too.

With so many questions about herself and her past, Darby doesn't even have the chance to wonder about Liara's. The weight of her secrets disappears whenever she's around Darby, and that, Liara tells herself, is the only reason the other woman makes her feel like she's floating on a cloud, free.

"Hungry?" Liara asks softly after shaking off her preoccupation.

Darby looks up, startled. "I apologize. I didn't see you there." Her eyes land upon the tray of food that Liara carries and they alight with anticipation. "Famished, really. That looks amazing."

The traps outside have proven useful; Liara was able to catch a few rabbits for stew, and tells Darby as such. She doesn't mention how stew is probably the only thing she's learned how to make on her travels: heavier foods never cook as fast, nor do they prove as sustainable. "Have a taste," she insists, gathering a spoonful and holding it out for Darby to take.

The way that Darby's fingertips trail over hers as she takes the spoon, the way the look in her eyes softens…surely Liara is merely having a case of wishful thinking. She watches the other woman's lips wrap around the spoon and her eyes close with delight; the groan she lets out is utterly sinful.

"It's…wonderful," Darby says, voice interestingly huskier.

"Wonderful," Liara repeats absently. For a moment, Darby just holds her gaze, but just as quickly, she starts as if caught red-handed.

Clearing her throat and rubbing at her neck, Darby just says, "So…"

"So," Liara repeats with an awkward smile. "Did you finally figure out the secrets of that mysterious message?" she asks as a means of distraction.

"Oh," Darby says, looking pleased. "Actually…no, I still don't understand the message. But…" she looks down at her hands, inexplicably shy. "I have images in my head. Perhaps memories, perhaps nothing at all. But it's silly to assume anything. They could be just dreams."

The forlorn look on the warrior's face prompts Liara's sympathy. "It isn't silly," Liara says kindly. "Tell me?"

Darby looks away, uneasy. "I think it's what happened before you found me. Why I was hurt."

Liara speaks with some trepidation. "What happened?"

A small amount of shame marks Darby's features, and it is only alleviated by the touch of Liara's hand on hers. She swallows, then sighs. "There are men dressed in silver and red armor – my enemies, I assume, considering they're attacking me with the ferocity of angry wyverns. I…kill a few, but there are too many and suddenly, I'm overwhelmed. An arrow comes out of nowhere," she says, then touches her left shoulder gently. "I suppose that's what this is." Liara just nods, encouraging her to continue. Darby's brow furrows as she tries to recall. "Then…someone strikes me from behind. Hard. Maybe the pommel of a sword, I'm not sure. But then I'm on my knees in the mud, and the soldiers surround me, swords at my throat."

Liara feels anxious even though she knows the outcome, knows that Darby is here, safe, and with her. "Then?"

Here, Darby's face becomes a mask of confusion. "I…I don't know. One of them says something to me, calls me a name. Something that just makes me boil with rage…for a moment, it's like everything goes white. But just as quickly…there is nothing but the color red and burning heat. Their blood and mine stain the ground, but there are no bodies. Just ash." Frowning, she shakes her head. "Dream or memory, I don't know. It's rather…unpleasant either way."

Liara just squeezes her fingers. "I'm sorry."

"I wish I could remember more. I wish I knew who I was," Darby says in a burst of anger. "I wish I knew what is real and what is not. What am I, if I can't even tell?"

"I am real," Liara reassures her. "And dream or memory or whatever that was…they can no longer harm you. You're safe with me."

It takes a moment, but the wrinkle in Darby's brow recedes, and she gives Liara a small little thankful smile. "You are a strong woman," is all she says, trailing her thumb over the back of Liara's hand, the one that still rests atop hers.

Liara blushes and stammers. "As are you."

.

.

.

"If you sharpen that sword any further, you'll have nothing but a metal toothpick." Liara peers over the edge of her book, looking at Darby pointedly.

A sigh is her only response, and Darby puts the sword down next to the bed and tosses the sharpening stone aside, frustration making her movements jerky and harsh. Liara would laugh at her petulance if the frown she had on her face weren't so miserable. "I can stand and walk a little on my own, you know. I don't understand why you insist on all this sitting."

She watches the other woman fidget, musing that she is much like a bird that's been locked in a cage. Darby crosses her arms and glares at nothing. Well, Liara recants, a very stubborn bird with broken wings that didn't have sense enough not to fly.

Emphatic protesting and cool logic had been enough to stall Darby for a few more days, but time apparently had an inverse relationship with Darby's patience. "I am fairly certain I've exhausted all the different ways to say this: your body needs to heal, even if you don't want to let it. It takes time."

Darby's voice is gruff. "Too much, if you ask me."

"Well, then," Liara smiles softly, "it's good that I didn't, isn't it?" Upon seeing Darby's rough exhalation, Liara decides to put her book down on the table and moves to sit on the bed. "I thought you wouldn't have an issue with me telling you to take it easy," she says, attempting a different tactic.

The woman's stubbornness is unlike any other Liara's seen, but her infinite graciousness certainly rivaled it. It certainly gives Liara an idea, one that makes her stifle the smirk on her face. Her mother always did say she'd get more flies with honey than vinegar.

Making a noise of displeasure, Darby fidgets more. "Well, that was forever ago. I'm better now."

"Darby, four days does not constitute an eternity," Liara says, voice gentle.

"Must you always be so logical?" she gripes.

Liara sighs deeply, attempting the perfect balance between heartfelt and overly dramatic. "Is it really so bad to be here with me?" she asks, peering up into blue eyes.

Darby looks away, guilty, and Liara feels the slightest spark of triumph. "No," she mumbles. "You mistake me, Liara."

Liara continues as if she hasn't heard her, picking forlornly at lint on the sheet with a muted sigh. "Well, perhaps you're right. I have a tendency to be overly hesitant. Perhaps you should go, if it's so troublesome to be here."

"Wh…no," Darby protests, eyes wide. "That wasn't what I meant, I just—"

"-You will need food," Liara just says, standing as though she's going to leave. "I'll make a few meals for you to take on your journey."

"Liara, wait," the other woman pleads, grabbing her hand to stop her. "I…didn't mean that I was tired of your company. I'm simply…" she sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I'm acting like a child. A spoiled, petulant child, and for that I am sorry." Nervously, she lets Liara's hand go and guiltily looks down at her lap. "I'm being a poor guest. I may not remember but I'm certain I wasn't raised by wolves."

"Darby, if you want to leave…"

"I don't," Darby blurts. She goes supremely red, but Liara hides her smile and pretends not to notice. "I'm not used to being so…so still, but I didn't mean that I dislike being with you. I'd…I'd like to stay for a bit, if that's all right. With you." Liara gives her a look, one that makes her sweat a little and stammer, "I mean…to get better. You're right, you know? I'm not at one hundred percent yet."

"I…see," Liara replies. "Well," she hedges, "I suppose in that case, there is no reason for you not to stay." Brightly, she gives Darby's hand a squeeze before retreating to the doorway. "But, I still have to make lunch anyway."

There is a suspicious silence that almost makes Liara burst out laughing.

"Liara. You planned that," she accuses, only looking slightly irritated and more in awe than anything.

"Planned what?" Liara asks, the epitome of innocence.

She looks slightly dumbstruck for a second, and then Darby just laughs a little, shaking her head ruefully. "Played like a lyre," she mutters to herself, a small smile playing on her lips as she watches Liara leave.

.

.

.

"So, what do you do?" The instant the words escape her lips, she winces. "I mean…forgive me. I've been so caught up in my own troubles, I haven't even thought to ask you about yourself."

"Oh," Liara says, internal alarms sounding. She tries to hide the rising panic in her voice, attempts to make her voice even. "It's quite all right. You've had a busy few days," she says.

"Eventful to say the least," Darby replies, smiling. When Liara just hums absently and doesn't seem like she's going to answer anytime soon, Darby speaks. "You didn't answer my question."

Curiously, Liara's eyes dart away for a moment. "I…am a farmer," she lies. Badly. She resists the urge to flinch, especially when Darby's eyes search hers for what seems like an extra second longer than appropriate.

Darby does not mention she hasn't seen hide nor hair of crop fields from her window. "Hmm," she murmurs, watching Liara intently. "Explains why you get up so early, then."

"What?"

"Why else would you get up at first light, if not to tend to the crops?" Darby asks, and if she looks far too innocent, Liara forces herself to believe that it's because she is.

"…R-right," Liara mutters. "Why else?" If Darby knew the truth, knew that she could only rest under the cover of nightfall and was forced to travel at first light…Well. No matter.

"Perhaps I was a farmer as well," Darby offers. It is a clear attempt to dilute the awkward tension that fills the air. "You know. That's what the sword is for. Digging holes for…turnips and all that. Fereldans love turnips."

Liara feels a surge of relief that Darby has no intention of pursuing the odd line of questioning, and tries to appear calm. She has to smile, if anything, at Darby's attempt at normalcy. "Is that so?" Liara asks, playing along. "And what about your armor? What's that for?"

Darby's grin, one that has slowly become familiar to Liara in the past few days, broadens her face. "Have you seen Fereldan gophers? Monstrous. I'd be a fool to go without armor," she winks.

Liara just laughs, the happy sound echoing throughout the cabin. She catches Darby watching her with a fond smile, sparking her curiosity. "Darby? What is it?"

Darby seems to ignore the way her own ears redden a bit at the tips, because when she speaks, it's with all the self-assuredness in the world. "Lovely," she murmurs.

"What is?"

Darby says nothing for a moment and simply holds out her hand, palm facing upwards in a request. Liara complies, hesitating only a little before placing her hand in Darby's. Piercing blue eyes never leave Liara's as Darby tilts her head down and brushes the lightest of kisses against Liara's knuckles, reverent and soft. Liara feels like she can't breathe. The simple gesture is common enough among Fereldans, but for some reason, the moment feels as rare as diamonds.

"The way you smile," Darby just says. Liara can feel her lips forming a grin against the skin of her knuckles, can see her mischievous eyes peeking up at her. Later, when Liara tosses and turns as she tries to fall asleep, she'll not be able to get that image or the strange feeling it gives her out of her head.

.

.

.

That morning, Liara wakes to the smell of food cooking.

Well, burning, really. In her own kitchen, no less.

Flinging the sheets off of her and running downstairs in an instant, she goes to Darby's room first, only to find the bed empty. Dashing towards the kitchen and following the smoke, the sight that greets her is almost pathetic as it is amusing, and all alarm melts away from her body in a flash.

"Darby," she breathes deeply, then coughs as the smoke permeates her senses. "You're all right."

"I was feeling better, and I wanted to wake you up with breakfast. To bring it upstairs to you myself," Darby explains, clearly miserable. "That was before breakfast decided to burn itself, however," she says, scowling.

"Did it?" Liara asks, utterly charmed by the warrior's frown. "Are you sure it wasn't you?"

"…Perhaps." The sight of this proud warrior practically pouting in her kitchen is almost too much, and Liara can't help the bubble of laughter that erupts.

"But you're standing on your own," Liara says happily, opening a window to let the smoke air out. "And walking!" She turns towards Darby, a pleased grin on her face. "That's wonderful, Darby."

As if to prove her newfound capability, Darby just smiles and takes a few steps towards Liara, close enough that Liara has to look up a bit at the other woman – how did she never realize how tall Darby really was? Probably because she's never stood next to her before, she realizes – and then Liara's close enough that despite the smoke, Liara can smell the soap from Darby's clean clothes. Liara's soap. The thought makes her feel like she's had far too much wine, warm and fuzzily content.

"As are you," Darby says, a smirk on her lips that is by now, very familiar. Before Liara even has the chance to blush, she finds herself wrapped up in that lovely, clean scent, the one that is a fascinating blend of her own and Darby's, and embraced by strong arms. She has never felt warmer or safer, and when she presses her ear against Darby's chest and hears the rhythmic, even heartbeat…whether she lingers for a second longer than appropriate or not, Darby doesn't seem to mind, because she just rests her chin atop Liara's head. "Thank you," she says, and Liara can hear her voice resonate through her chest, deeper and more powerful this close.

"I told you before…there is no need to thank me," Liara murmurs before reluctantly lifting her head and moving to pull away from the embrace. Darby's muscles twitch for a moment as she refuses to let Liara go, and her hands drift from the asari's lower back to her waist, holding her steady. The action makes Liara feel hotter, like she's standing on the face of the sun. "Darby…?" Liara says, like it's a question, but it's also like she doesn't really know what she's asking.

"Liara." Darby just smiles. Whatever the question may be, she definitely knows the answer: she leans forward so slowly that it gives Liara the time to feel a little light-headed and breathless, to lick her dry lips in anticipation, to hold her breath and to wonder: is someone as beautiful and strong and perfect like Darby really going to…to…

There is a sudden pounding at the door, loud and forceful, and Liara practically jumps out of her skin in surprise. She settles for jumping out of Darby's arms, and nervously scratching at her collarbone.

"Who…who is it?" she asks, voice shaky. Visitors? Visitors were never good, she never had them and for good reason, because-

"My name is Knight-Corporal Maron. I demand an audience with the resident of this cottage."

Knight-Corporal.

A _templar._

Liara's stomach drops, and the world falls away, whiteness suddenly blurring the edges of her vision.

Her face must show it, because Darby is back at her side in an instant, grasping her hands in hers. "What is it? You're deathly pale."

"J-just a moment," Liara shouts at the door. Wildly, she glances back at Darby. "You must go. Now."

Recoiling, Darby frowns. "What? Go? Why on earth would I-" The pounding on the door grows louder and more insistent. "What is going on?"

Too much, Liara thinks, and there is apparently no time left.

Emboldened by the fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins, Liara just rushes forward and grabs the lapels of Darby's shirt, pulling her forward roughly to give her a bruising, desperate kiss that feels like fire. "Remember when I said you were safe here?" she rasps. Darby nods a little dumbly, cheeks flushed. "I suppose that's no longer true."

The knocking turns into slamming against the door. "Liara, what—"

"You will open this door at once, by the order of the Divine!"

"Please, if you care about me…" Liara begs.

"How can you say that?" Darby says, aghast. "Of course I…"

"Citizen, this is your last warning. I have the authority to break into this home if necessary," booms the loud, terrible voice.

"By the goddess, if you won't leave, then hide! Go!" Liara hisses, pushing Darby towards the large cupboard and slamming the door behind her. Any protest the warrior gives her goes muffled and soon silent.

Her heart still pounds wildly in her throat. Wiping the palms of her hands against her apron, she clears her throat and heads towards the door, opening it as casually as possible. "May I help you, Knight-Corporal?" she asks, trying to will her facial muscles into a state of calm.

A dark-haired man forces open the door, and ten men march into her cottage, steel boots clanging against the wooden floor. "Yes, you can," he all but growls, an ugly grin twisting his features. "I am fairly sure you know why I'm here."

"I…I'm sure I don't, messere," she says, grasping at straws. Her staff is stowed away in her bedroom, and there are far too many of them for her to have even a semblance of a chance.

He scowls and shoves her forward so that she stumbles, cornered against the wall. The men surround her in a circle like wolves circling prey, and beyond their helmets, the only thing Liara can see is their eyes, chilling and black. "Do not make it worse by lying, asari. I can smell the magic on you like a stench." His hand drifts towards the hilt of his sword as his lip curls. "Did you think we wouldn't find your phylactery?"

The air rushes out of her lungs, and the terrible weight in her stomach somehow gets heavier. "Please," is all she can say, choking out the one word that may save her life. She knew she would get caught sometime, she knew that she couldn't run forever…but if they found Darby, she'd be arrested for harboring a fugitive, they would have no mercy…

"You've managed to evade us for months, Liara T'Soni. For that, I must give you credit," he says, tone dripping with condescension. "But you slipped up and stayed in one place for far too long. You should've kept running."

This was inevitable, and Liara knows that. Suddenly she feels like maybe she should have never run at all, and that maybe she should've just done this from the start. Maybe that's why her spine straightens and her voice grows firm, and she allows the hatred for these men, for the Chantry, for all those who scorned magic for no reason, to burn inside of her freely. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to be free."

"You're an abomination, and what happened in Kirkwall will _not _happen here," Knight-Corporal Maron says, like she hasn't even spoken. "And I will kill every last one of you myself if I have to…you miserable, damned apostate!"

The Knight-Corporal raises his greatsword for the death strike, and Liara defiantly raises her chin to meet it. She feels fear and shame no longer, for if she's to die, then it's as a free woman. She regrets nothing, except…Darby, she thinks. She regrets not saying something sooner, for refusing to acknowledge what those strange feelings she had around Darby were…she closes her eyes and thinks of warrior's beautiful blue ones.

It happens in an instant.

With a cry, the templar moves to strike, and suddenly, there is Darby kicking open the cupboard door so hard the hinges fly off, and she's just standing there with eyes full of hate and hands aflame with raging black and red fire. The flames roar and rumble, and the foundation of the cottage itself shakes as though trembling in fear.

It is unlike any magic Liara has ever seen.

"You can certainly try," is all Darby says, before her scowl deepens and the fire in her hands glows brighter. The templars take a step backwards in surprise, but it is too late.

"Darby," Liara breathes.

Then there is nothing but fire.

.

.

.

"—ara? Liara! Come on, Liara, please…I...no…"

Liara wakes to rough hands pushing and pulling at her shoulders. As soon as her eyes flutter open, she finds herself gathered up in solid arms, Darby cradling her to her chest as she groggily tries to gather her bearings.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Darby rasps, squeezing her so tightly she almost can't breathe.

"Darby?" she says, blinking fuzzily at the way Darby's chest heaves erratically. "Are you…crying?"

Darby blinks furiously for a moment. "Of…of course not. The smoke…it's…"

"It's okay," Liara just smiles. "I'm glad you're all right," Liara says, and when her hand rises to rest on Darby's cheek, smudged with ash, Darby's larger hand covers it. She's holding it so tightly, her knuckles turn white.

"I—I thought you were…" Gone is the strong self-assuredness that always marks her voice, and the usual teasing tone is nowhere to be found. Her voice is broken and speaks of nothing but utter fear.

"I know. But I'm not." Darby just gives a ragged breath, the nods as Liara strokes her thumb across her cheek.

Confusedly, Liara looks around at the burnt remains of her kitchen. The earth is razed, and dark piles of ash sporadically litter the ground. The flames must have licked part of the ceiling, because it's burnt to a crisp in some areas, still smoking in others. "Darby. What happened? Your hands…" Liara grasps at them, staring. They're unscathed, and save for a few smudges of soot on her face, Darby looks no worse for the wear. "Was…was that…are you…?" There's really no other explanation, but after all this, Liara just needs to hear it.

Darby nods. "I'm a mage."

"You didn't tell me?" Liara asks before she can think.

"I would have, if I knew," Darby says with a wry smile. "But I wasn't even sure of my own name, remember?"

"It is strange…" Liara wonders. "I didn't even sense any magic within you."

"It reminds me of my childhood…before I knew of my powers," Darby muses. "I felt…different, but I didn't really know what it was until I accidentally started setting things on fire and freezing my bathwater."

Liara feels like laughing, but she is far too breathless. "I was so afraid to tell you. I'd been running for so long, so used to people fearing my power…and you're…you're…" _You're just like me_. Strangely enough, now Liara feels like crying.

Darby hushes her gently. "I know, Liara. You don't have to run anymore. At least, not alone." Darby brings her closer in a hug that Liara eagerly accepts. "It's funny," she murmurs, resting her chin over Liara's shoulder. "When that templar was going to…to hurt you," says Darby, "I remembered. I remembered that everything I told you wasn't a dream, and I remembered what they called me that made me so angry."

"What?"

Her laugh is a little bitter. "…Apostate."

.

.

.

It takes a good hour of Darby fussing over Liara and apologizing profusely for the state of the room formerly known as her kitchen until Liara finally shushes her with a stern look.

"We aren't safe here," she says, snatching up two small satchels and rummaging through her drawers.

"This is my fault."

"Don't think like that," Liara chastises before tossing one of the bags at Darby. "We must leave here immediately. Grab your weapons and some clothing. We'll have to find food on the way." Desperately, Liara flutters around the room, looking for tomes and philters of mana to bring. "We could…" she mutters to herself, "…hmm. Maybe if we double-back to Kirkwall…or maybe if we go to Orlais and hide in plain sight…no, that won't do…"

"Liara," Darby interjects suddenly. "We can go into the Wilds."

The asari raises her eyebrows in shock. "Why would we go there? I am not sure I am ready to deal with any Chasind or remaining darkspawn," Liara hesitates.

Darby hands her the mysterious message from days ago. "I think I may understand this a little better."

"Do you remember who it's from? What it means?" Liara asks eagerly.

Regretfully, Darby shakes her head. "The details are still foggy, but…I think I was heading towards the Korcari Wilds to meet someone before I was ambushed. The message…I just…" Frustrated, she runs a hand through her hair. "Call it a hunch."

Liara feels uncertain, but it's not like they have any other choice. Anywhere they are, they're in danger, and if anything, few people would venture into the Wilds just for a few apostates. Not without a small army, at least. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," she says.

"Trust me, please," Darby replies, hand on her shoulder and urgency in her eyes. "Do you?"

The uncertainty disappears, and when Liara answers, her voice is strong. "With my life."

.

.

.

They travel for days, rising with the sun and constantly looking over their shoulders at every corner. By night, they alternate keeping watch, but thankfully, their vigilance proves futile, because there are no templars in sight for three days straight. By the fourth day, something has changed. Perhaps it is because they are nearing their destination, but Darby takes to talking less and looking pensive more. When she thinks Liara's asleep, she'll sharpen her sword and simply glare at the cryptic message, and then scowl at herself. And then sometimes Liara catches her staring at her, and instead of blushing like she did the first few times, now Darby just looks impossibly sad.

They stop for the night, and after Liara quietly makes them dinner and Darby only eats half of it, Liara can keep quiet no longer.

"What's wrong?" Liara asks gently, coming to sit next to her on the log.

"Hmm?"

"You have been so quiet lately. Before, I would have had to put a silencing spell on you, you talked so much."

Darby laughs, the sound a little weak. "No. I just…" she sighs, trailing off.

"Are your wounds bothering you? Do they still hurt?" Darby shakes her head, and Liara pauses for a moment before finally asking. "Is it…me?"

"No!" Darby says instantly. "No. It's not you." She offers a reassuring smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes like usual, and the blue of her irises looks strangely dull.

Liara grabs Darby's hand, the one that is fisted around the crumpled note. "It's the message, isn't it? You know what it means?" Darby jerks her head in a nod, frowning. "You don't like it," Liara surmises.

"Am I so transparent?" Darby muses, prodding more sharply at the fire.

"Only to me."

The frown deepens on Darby's face, the sharp planes of her face standing out starkly against the shadows. "The past few days I…I've been remembering. Things started coming to me slowly, one by one, and then…I can't even remember how it happened, but I just woke up, and I knew everything. Remembered everything."

"But that's…that's good news, isn't it?" Liara frowns. "It's what you wanted?"

"Ignorance is bliss," Darby mutters. "My past…it's doused in blood. My future looks no brighter. You saw what I did to those men. I've done it countless times before."

"Darby, they were going to hurt us. No one would blame you for—"

Darby gives a mirthless chuckle. "That's not it. I am a warrior, through and through, Liara. I don't regret killing those men."

"Then what is it?" Liara presses.

The warrior sighs, staring into the fire. "I regret that I've dragged you into this. I am afraid of what it will mean for you and for your safety," she confesses, looking miserable and ashamed. "Liara, who I am…what I'm about to do…I'm…I'm—"

"-going to tell me everything when you're ready," Liara says firmly, stopping Darby in her tracks. "I don't need to know anything else until then. Okay?"

That brings a small smile to her face. "Do you trust me that much?"

"I told you, with my life," Liara says earnestly, nudging Darby's knee with her own. "Look at me, Darby," she commands in a gentle voice, enough so that the other woman drags her eyes away from the fire and meets hers, guilty and worried. "I haven't been safe since I ran from the Circle. I'm here because I want to be, and I know you'll tell me everything when it's time."

"Tomorrow," she promises. "In the morning. And then…then you can decide if you want to stay with m—" Darby coughs, cheeks burning. "If you want to stay," she finishes lamely.

"I will," Liara says softly, without hesitation. "Darby, I could never…" _Leave you. _It is her turn to look away into the fire, embarrassed into silence. It is one that is heavy and thick with tension and unspoken words.

But Darby responds by dropping the stick and reaching over to hold Liara's hand in her own. "Did you mean it?" she asks softly, her blue eyes glowing in the firelight. She looks more vulnerable than Liara's ever seen her, and that includes when she lay on the verge of death in her bed.

"Mean what?" Liara asks, distracted by the way Darby entwines their fingers. Darby takes the opportunity to lean forward and kiss her like she's always wanted to be kissed, sure and passionate and like there's no one else in the world but the two of them.

"When you did that," Darby says, cheeks a little flushed as she pulls away much too soon.

"Oh," she murmurs again as her stomach flutters. There is a pleased little smile on her face that she couldn't get rid of if she tried. "Maybe," she whispers. Darby looks so uncharacteristically nervous that Liara giggles, and the sound is apparently, quite reassuring.

"Just maybe?" Darby drawls, blue eyes glinting as she leans forward once more. "I suppose I'll just have to try and get a yes out of you."

Liara tugs her closer, already licking her lips. "You can certainly try."

.

.

.

For the first time in months, Liara doesn't wake with the sun.

She blames Darby for this entirely, but it isn't really a bad thing, not with the way her body feels deliciously sated, loose-limbed and free.

It is the sensation of Darby's fingertips trailing down the bridge of her nose that gently coaxes Liara into consciousness, albeit a foggy one.

"What are you doing?" she mumbles sleepily, unable to resist the smile that grows when Darby's fingertips ghost across her lips. Darby lets out a pleased hum when Liara kisses the pads of her fingers, half-asleep.

"You are exquisite," is all Darby says before pressing her nude form ever closer to Liara's under the bedroll.

"As are you," Liara giggles, now fully awake.

"Mm. By the way, I am fairly certain that you were shouting a lot of 'yes's last night," Darby adds cheekily, her hands drifting beneath the blanket and reaching downwards, tortuously slow. The calloused fingertips trail a rough path down between her breasts, along the sensitive skin of her ribcage, tracing along her hipbones. Darby's face is buried in Liara's neck, mouthing hot kisses from her pulse point to her collarbone.

"Is that so," Liara teases. Her laughter gets swallowed back into a moan as talented fingers enter her – easily, so easily…it'd be embarrassing if Darby wasn't so beautiful - curling upwards and hitting her in just the right spot. It makes her eyes roll back in her head and her stomach flip. She wants to be quiet but she can't help the groan that escapes her throat, the gasp that she gives when she sees Darby's nostrils flare and her teeth flash in a wicked grin.

"Quite," Darby says, her thumb making lazy circles right where Liara wants it, and Liara positively throbs around the fingers Darby's buried within her. "Let's see if I can't get a few more, shall we?" she asks breathlessly, scraping her teeth against Liara's clavicle.

"It…it couldn't hurt," Liara pants.

Darby's chuckle is low, and it's followed by a grunt as Liara digs her nails deeply into her shoulder blades. "Only if you want it to, love."

.

.

.

It must be around noon when Liara wakes again, if the position of the sun is any indication. The warmth of its rays has slowly heated their bedroll, and Liara snuggles further into Darby's arms, mumbling nonsensically with the intention of falling back asleep. She must be dreaming, though, because she vaguely registers the sounds of voices she hasn't heard before.

"Well, this is odd," a smooth voice says curiously.

"Mm…That and a few other things." A leer marks the words, dragging them out.

Exasperation and a sigh, but it is fond. "_So_ not the time."

"I can't help it. Look at them! You didn't mention that she was so gorgeous. Nor that she had such a cute little asari lover. And they're naked." There is a gleeful little chuckle. "Do me a favor, sweet thing, and move those away those frumpy bedroll covers. It's impeding what would be a rather lovely sight."

"How did I end up with such a pervert?" A small mumble, followed by the shuffling of steps and a wet smacking sound breaks the silence.

"Because I'm a fantastic kisser."

"Mm. Good point. Such logic!"

"Well, that, and I've got a great rack."

"If only the masses knew that was how to get to the Champion's heart…through her pants."

The responding bark of laughter propels Darby upwards, muttering. "What the-?" The warrior groans, clutching the bedroll covers to her chest.

"Darby, what is it…?" Liara murmurs sleepily, face still buried in the pillow. "I was dreaming that people were talking…"

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!" calls out a rather loud voice with disgusting pep.

"Uh, Liara…" Darby says with wide eyes, nudging her desperately.

Slowly, Liara's eyes blink open and the fuzzy world comes into focus…

"Goddess!" Liara screeches in surprise upon noticing the two strange women with equally amused grins (one more lecherous than the other, but still…) One of them, eerily familiar, is dressed in the darkest, spikiest armor that is of a strange design: the only color that peeks out is the bright red of the bandana around her collar. Her features are similar to Darby's, but her black hair is cropped shorter and falls more into her eyes, which are a bright, almost glacial blue. A stain of blood crosses the bridge of her nose, but instead of looking ridiculous, it manages to look rather menacing. Her smile, however, is reassuring and welcoming, an odd contrast to the giant greatsword strapped to her back, covered in bloodstains and looking well used.

Funnily enough, it's the other woman who makes Liara more concerned, as she is kind of staring at Liara like she's a piece of meat and she hasn't eaten in days. "I hate to disappoint," she purrs, "but there's no goddess. Just us." She twirls a beautiful dagger, sharp and with a hilt made of gold that gleams in the sunlight. She merely cocks her hip with a grin, winking. She…isn't wearing pants.

"Who…wha-?" Liara mutters in confusion, shooting Darby a helpless look.

Sheepishly, Darby rubs at her neck. "Well. This isn't how I imagined this going but…Liara, these are the people we were supposed to meet. These are my friends."

Recognition strikes like a bolt of lightning, and she looks at the armored woman with awe: the woman whose beauty and prowess in battle are the talk of the taverns, whose name is the rallying cry of mages everywhere. "You're…You're the Champion of Kirkwall," she breathes. "Defender of mages, slayer of the Knight-Commander—"

"—I prefer Hawke," she interjects with a smile. "It's a lot easier to say, don't you think?"

Liara blinks and turns towards the other woman. "Then… you must be Isabela."

"What, _just_ Isabela? I don't get a fancy title or shock and awe? I own a ship," she says petulantly. "I'm a captain, you know!"

Hawke looks at her with an impossibly fond smile. "Yes, darling. You're a big bad captain of the seas, debaucher of king's daughters and Champions, expert thief and cunning rogue, not to mention Rivaini Queen of my heart…"

Isabela is not amused. "Keep that up and we'll see if I go near anything of yours, much less your heart," Isabela scowls.

Darby bursts into laughter. "Good to see you, Hawke."

"I know, isn't it?" the Champion teases. "It's good to see you too," Hawke adds sincerely. "I was worried, though. There had been talk in these lands…that someone had spotted the Champion's Commander moving towards the Wilds."

"We…took care of that," Darby hesitates.

Hawke snorts. "Between your blade and your magic…Of that I have no doubt, my friend. Why else would I choose you as my Commander?"

"Her stunning good looks?" Isabela hazards a guess, to which Hawke rolls her eyes.

Liara, who had been vacillating between shock and awe at the famed Champion and her pirate queen standing before her, suddenly snaps back into reality with a confused look. "The Champion's…Commander?" Liara asks.

Hawke's eyebrows rise. "You're saying that you don't know?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"Know what?"

"Oh, Shepard," Hawke chuckles, inordinately amused. "Dearest Shepard. Sometimes I just want to pinch your cheeks and make cooing noises at you, you're so adorable."

"Bite your tongue, _Adrian_," Darby shoots back.

Hawke frowns. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

Liara's eyes go impossibly wide, and she turns towards Darby in utter shock. "Shepard…You're Commander Shepard? The Commander Shepard?" she practically screeches.

"That's the one," Darby mumbles, cheeks red.

"You know, she's got this weird thing called modesty," Hawke muses. "She never wants to tell people who she is. Granted, she's got that whole, 'I'm-a-mage-and-it's-a-secret' thing to take care of as well, but…eh. This wouldn't be the first time."

"Well, this time wasn't a choice," Darby protests, almost pouting like a child. "I got my head nearly knocked off. I couldn't remember a thing for days, much less translate your ridiculously cryptic message. Thanks for that, by the way."

Hawke raises her eyebrows. "Oh, you don't really think I wrote that, do you?" She waves a hand dismissively. "Varric insisted on having some 'literary' freedom. He does get so bored writing military commands sometimes."

Liara must be dreaming. Surely Darby can't be the great Commander Shepard, and surely this strange, almost jovial woman can't be the fearsome Champion of Kirkwall and defender of mages.

Liara shakes her head, still in utter disbelief. "Commander Shepard," she mutters. "The mage-warrior that leads the Champion's forces in the fight for freedom," she rambles. "_The Commander of the Resistance_."

"That's the one," Isabela adds, ever helpful. Liara's mouth opens and closes, much like a fish. "Oh, Hawke, look how cute she is when she's incredulous!"

The Champion of Kirkwall chuckles and gives the pirate a firm swat on her ass. "How about we give them some time to sort this out, love. We'll be back soon."

"Soon?" Isabela asks. "How soon? D'you think we have time to…" she waggles her eyebrows up and down, tilting her head towards a thick patch of trees in the distance.

Hawke rolls her eyes in exaggeration, but her grin is just as lecherous as the smirk Isabela gives her. "You're incorrigible," she says, but she's already reaching out and grabbing the pirate by the hand to drag her away.

"I believe you mean insatiable. And you say it like it's a bad thing…"

Liara just stares after them, then turns towards Darby with eyes still wide. Darby just chuckles a little bashfully and shrugs.

.

.

.

They eat and dress first. From there, it takes a lot of talking until Darby's voice goes hoarse (which is actually kind of attractive, if Liara focuses on it, which she can't, because she still can't get over the fact that Darby is the Commander of the Resistance, for goddess's sake…) but it takes just as much blinking and staring for Liara to get it sorted.

"Let me get this straight," she begins slowly. "You're telling me that you're Commander Shepard, one of the greatest arcane warriors of our time, and coincidentally, also the best military strategist and head of the Champion of Kirkwall's rising army."

"Yes."

"You're_ also_ telling me that you know the Hero of Ferelden and that in a few days' time, once she meets with Hawke, the Resistance is launching a full scale attack against Orlais. With you at the helm."

"Yes."

"And that the Warden and the Champion are going to activate an ancient Eluvian even though they don't know where it leads because something far, far worse than a mage-templar war is coming and they need to prepare for it. To save the world."

"…Yes. Well, and you forgot that Morrigan and Isabela are going with them. And it's possibly to save the universe. I'm not really sure."

Liara just blinks.

"Um, so yes, that's pretty much it in a nutshell," Darby says lamely.

From a distance, a clearly topless and tousled Isabela peers out from behind a large tree trunk. "Are you all sorted yet?" she calls out breathlessly.

"No," Darby calls back, peevish. Isabela just shrugs and gleefully disappears into the darkness of the trees, a pale white hand clutching at her shoulder and laughter echoing.

"Well," Liara mutters, looking into her lap. "Uh…well."

There is a deep sigh, and Darby's got that worried look on her face. "I know it's a lot to process, and this is what I meant when I said I was afraid of dragging you into all this," Darby says, standing up to pace back and forth. "This is dangerous and ridiculous and probably fatal, and I understand if -"

Liara stops her by grabbing her hand and forcefully tugging her down so that she lands on the log next to her with a huff. It's ridiculous, but she can't help it. "I love you," Liara says shakily, even though she's never been surer of anything in her life. "And I won't leave you, whether it means bringing you soup everyday or following you into battle or into the Void itself, and you'll never convince me to do otherwise." She kisses her firmly, tongue swiping at Darby's bottom lip and hands burying in her hair. "Okay?"

"I…" Darby says, eyes glazed. "Okay," she repeats. "Okay."

Liara just laughs a little giddily and runs her fingers through Darby's hair. "Okay," she confirms.

"I love you," Darby breathes. "Maker's breath, I love you, Liara."

It's only a surprised shout, one that's not from Hawke or Isabela, that interrupts their kiss.

"Andraste's tits, Hawke, put some clothes on! My eyes!"

"We didn't hear you! Who sneaks up on people like that? For the Maker's sake, Nicola, you'd think the Hero of Ferelden would have more courtesy!"

"We weren't sneaking, you were just so occupied…"

"Well, excuse me, Lady Cousland, but you're not supposed to be here for another two days!"

"…Oh, boo, now look what you did. Hawke's gone and put all her clothes back on…"

"And these are the two we shall be going through the Eluvian with, Warden? 'Tis rather a poor choice…and why is the other one still not putting her clothes on? 'Tis most disturbing… Wait…is that not the harlot from Denerim? The one who taught you how to 'duel'…?"

"Heh…um…"

"_Warden_…!"

The bickering from the forest becomes too much, Darby pulls away from the kiss, laughing. "Well. Now this is just a grand introduction for you to the 'great' triumvirate of the Resistance, isn't it?" she teases. "There was a lot more nudity than I expected, I swear."

Liara laughs. "Oh, dear. This is all so absurd…so unexpected…am I in the Fade?" She's teasing a little, but it really does seem like this must be a dream. "Are you going to pinch me to wake me up?"

Darby kisses her instead. "I would hate to break it to you, darling, but this is all real," she smiles.

The affectionate pet name causes warmth to spread throughout Liara's body. "You mistake me," Liara murmurs, stroking the skin of Darby's cheek. "I wouldn't change it for the world."

A bright smile blooms on Darby's face, and the way that she looks at Liara, it's like she's the most perfect creature in the entire universe.

"You are an extraordinary woman," Darby whispers, bringing her close for another kiss.

Liara's eyes sting. "As are you, my love."


End file.
